


Silence Speaks

by reapertownusa



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, F/M, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-12
Updated: 2010-09-12
Packaged: 2017-11-27 00:49:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/656174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reapertownusa/pseuds/reapertownusa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Zachariah doesn’t return to take Dean back from 2014, Dean has to find common ground with himself and undertakes a new plan to save Sam and stop Lucifer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Silence Speaks

**Author's Note:**

> Author's Note: AU tag to 'The End'. Written for a spnrarepairs exchange, but it's UST only and could be read as gen..or not, depending on your preference. Hinted pairings include Dean/future!Dean UST, Dean/Alastair implied past relationship, implied Dean/Castiel and very vaguely implied Castiel/Anna.
> 
> Prompts/requests were: traveling the world, maps/cartography/geography, "The Past and Pending" by The Shins, a picture of the Islington Substation, "History is nothing but a pack of tricks that we play upon the dead." –Voltaire, Edmond Jabes’s silence speaks quote, UST only, body writing, 5.04verse, cigarettes, breaching the forth wall, references to Indonesian or Filipino mythology, languages, unhappy/ambiguous ending and Dean/Castiel subtext
> 
> All but the last few lines of dialogue in the first scene are taken directly from 'The End'. The song lyrics are from The Shins 'Past and Pending'. Thanks so much to corri_kun for the beta!

Sam was a lot of things. To Dean he was everything, but one thing Sam wasn’t and would never be was a self-absorbed, gloating drama queen. Over the top lightening splintered the sky while Sam stood in the center of it all dressed in a ridiculous white suit, smelling the roses like he stood for everything pure and holy. It was all show, all crap - it wasn’t Sam.

Logically Dean knew that, but it didn’t matter. It was still his worst fear manifested. Sam was a demon’s bitch and Dean was standing less than ten feet away powerless to stop it. Hell didn’t hold a smoldering candle to this.

Somewhere in there Sam was staring out from those eyes. If there was any part of him that hadn’t been eaten away, his brother was trapped inside his own body and the thing imprisoning his brother wanted his sympathy. When he didn’t get it, Lucifer smugly turned his back, walking Sam’s body away. It was too much.

“You better kill me now!” Dean called after him. There was no way to disguise the sheer desperation in his voice. He didn’t bother to try.

When he turned back, Lucifer looked dumfounded as if he couldn’t process being talked back to. If Lucifer thought Dean was going to roll over and die, again, he had another thing coming.

“Pardon?”

The cocky son of a bitch really thought he had this one nailed, maybe he did. That fear was real enough that part of Dean wished it would really happen, that it could all just end here and now. He repeated the words.

“You better kill me now or I swear, I will find a way to kill you. And I won’t stop.”

“I know you won’t,” Lucifer replied as he returned to Dean. “I know you won’t say yes to Michael either, and I know you won’t kill Sam.”

Dean clamped his jaw so hard it trembled. Lucifer was right about that. If killing Sam was the only way out of this then Dean didn’t want out. It didn’t matter that it was what Sam would want. Dean too would prefer his body to be a rotting corpse long before he had a world ending demon riding his bones, or an angel for that matter, but Sam wouldn’t kill him and he wouldn’t kill Sam.

“Whatever you do, you will always end up here,” Lucifer affirmed with a sickening certainty.

Averting his eyes to the ground, Dean struggled for some semblance of control. He refused to buy this deranged puppet show theory everyone was cramming down his throat. The only person who dictated his actions was him. As vehemently as he silently insisted these dicks couldn’t all be right, it wouldn’t twist his gut if some part of him didn’t believe it. It wouldn’t rip his heart out if he didn’t think that maybe there really was no way to save Sam.

“Whatever choices you make, whatever details you alter, we will always end up...here,” Lucifer said with a sweeping motion around them. The moisture finally swelled over Dean’s lashes, a single tear streaking down his cheek. Lucifer only raised his brother’s brows mockingly in return. “I win...so, I win.”

“You’re wrong.” The choked words were the only retort Dean could manage.

Unimpressed, Lucifer sent him a parting smug ass smile. “See you in five years, Dean.”

Nerves ragged, Dean flinched at another roll of thunder and blinding flash of lightening. By the time the rumble had faded Lucifer had again vanished. Dean sensed the presence now behind him, but it was hard to care. This peek-a-boo game had lost its charm before it started. It was only when Lucifer remained silent that Dean forced himself to turn and look.

“Hello, Dean.”

Confusion rushed into Dean’s agonized eyes as he found himself staring straight at Anna. An uncertain smile played over her lips and sadness touched her eyes as she looked to Dean’s older self lying still on the ground. The sorrow only deepened when her eyes again met his. Quickly he looked away. He wasn’t up to any more scrutiny.

“You’re too late.”

“No, I’m just in time.”

At her confident words Dean’s expression grew all the more questioning. There was no chance to demand an explanation before her fingers touched to his forehead and everything bled to white.

~~~

“So we really can’t die, can we?” Dean asked himself.

His older self leaned back against the splintered wooden steps they sat on, kicking his feet out to stare at the scuffed leather of his boots. When he looked up his eyes gazed blankly beyond trees painted with the amber rays of the setting sun.

Activity in the camp had settled down. There’d been some kind of briefing that Dean hadn’t been invited to and then it was back to business as usual. It had been easy to explain away what had happened because apparently they were pretending nothing had happened.

Pretending everything was okay was what had led his older self into this whole mess to begin with. Obviously trying to ignore Sam and fight his own battle hadn’t fixed the Lucifer problem. When Dean saw Sam again...if he ever saw Sam again.

He shook off the thought. If Zachariah didn’t show up soon Dean would claw his way up into heaven and drag that angel’s ugly ass down here himself. One way or another he was getting back to his time and one way or another he was saving Sam. If doing that happened to save the rest of the world in the process then all the better.

“Dying is just one more thing we suck at,” his older self finally replied. Reaching back the man grabbed a beer from the waiting six-pack on the porch.

Dean shrugged. It was hard to argue with that. Unintentionally mirroring the older man’s posture, Dean also leaned back on the steps and used his elbow to prop himself up. With the sun’s warmth fading he pulled his jacket a little tighter against the first cool breeze of the evening. The man beside him did the same.

Looking out on the camp, it seemed deserted. Most were in the mess hall eating dinner, but for once Dean wasn’t hungry and it didn’t look like his older self was either. Only the music grating through the speakers of an old boom box in a nearby cabin gave away the fact that they weren’t alone.

As someone sets light to the first fire of autumn  
We settle down to cut ourselves apart...

He let his weary eyes fall closed and breathed in the gentle music’s melody. It wasn’t Led Zeppelin, but it was the first sign he’d heard that these people weren’t already dead. The longer he listened the more the music’s melody tugged at his memory.

Held to the past too aware of the pending  
Chill as the dawn breaks and finds us up for sale...

“What part of keep that crap down don’t these people get?” Dean’s older self grumbled.

The man popped the cap off a second beer. Dean cracked an eye open to see the empty being tossed aside. The forgotten bottle clanked against gravel and rolled down the sloped drive to get caught up in the base of some bushes.

Dean raised a brow to his older self. “You leaving that one for the maid?”

“Shut up.”

After a long swig his older self passed Dean the beer. Dean glanced between the offered beer and the desolate man before accepting it. “We celebrating?”

His older self glared at the seeping sarcasm. “It was a beer or a bullet. Since I can’t die it’d be a waste of a perfectly good bullet.”

It hadn’t needed to be said for Dean to know the older man wished he was dead. Roles reversed, Dean would want the same, but that wasn’t happening. Before he let himself become that man he’d make sure he was dead and that he’d taken out a lot of sorry black-eyed bastards along the way.

Dean took a long swig of the stale beer and grimaced. It was officially the worst beer he’d ever tasted. Nothing here tasted right. Nothing here was right.

Blind to the last cursed affair pistols and countless eyes  
A trail of white blood betrays the reckless route your craft is running…

“Sam,” Dean said.

With a flash of irritation his older self narrowed his eyes. “What about him?”

“He loves this song. It was on that douchey i-thingy.”

Giving an irritated sigh, Dean’s older counterpart dug into his pocket to pull out a smashed pack of cigarettes. With a practiced hand he knocked one out. It was Dean’s turn to glare as the man set the cigarette between his lips.

“We smoke?”

The older man mirrored the raising of his brows, quirking one of them while he defiantly flicked a lighter and set the flame to the tip of the cigarette. He took a slow, deep drag before replying, “We’ve done stupider things.”

“Awesome. Let me guess, it’s better than a bullet?”

A disinterested shrug was the only reply. His older self flicked his finger to tap the spent ash onto the step between them before bringing the cigarette back up to his lips. With the next inhale the tip glowed bright in the fading light. Dean gave an irritated swat to the drifting haze of smoke.

It wasn’t that it bothered him in general. Half the motel rooms he and Sam stayed in smelled like ashtray and they practically lived at bars with more nicotine in the air than oxygen. It was just the principle of it – it was that he knew it was as much a sign of defeat as Castiel and his amphetamine driven circles of love.

“You gonna let me know when this pity train is coming to a stop so I can get off at the next station?”

“I’m not gonna sit here and take crap from myself.” His older self blew a nicotine laced cloud into his face before pushing off the steps. “You still wanna take on Lucifer after he killed you, or at least me, and I’m the freak for smoking rolled tobacco?”

“Just not seeing the point.”

“Welcome to life,” his older self replied with another drag. “Hey! Where the hell do you think you’re going?”

Dean also pushed off the steps, not bothering to send so much as a parting glance to himself. While his older self had been sulking about his resurrection Dean had seen Anna and Castiel disappear into one of the cabins. They’d been in there for over an hour.

It was hard to get a read on this overindulgent, hippie reject version of Castiel, but Anna still seemed like Anna so he doubted he was about to walk in on an angel orgy. There wasn’t anything fundamentally wrong with orgies. The visual would even have its perks if not for his mind jumping to some of the other angels they’d crossed paths with.  
If Dean was under the delusion that this sex, drugs and rock and roll lifestyle was floating Castiel’s boat he’d be totally onboard with angelic Woodstock or Cas opening the next Hefner mansion, but Castiel seemed more miserable than his usual self. Dean also wasn’t planning on sticking around here. He so didn’t need to go home to his Castiel with awkward visuals burned into his brain – visuals that Castiel could pop in on.

Peering in through the doorway he saw both Castiel and Anna standing over a table. While it wasn’t an orgy, they were looking a hell of a lot cuddlier than he’d imagined. Anna slid her hand from beneath Castiel’s when Dean’s boot hit a loose floorboard.

An amused smirk almost touched Dean’s lips and he shot a look towards Castiel. “Am I interrupting?”

“Hardly,” Castiel replied. “We’re discussing your future.”

Castiel straightened his stance and in that moment beneath the ragged clothes, unshaven face and lingering scent of pot Dean caught a glimpse of the Castiel he knew. It was his Cas, the one that was all business all the time – the one that still saw a battle that needed fighting.

“Don’t you think I might want in on that?”

“You didn’t think so.” At the silent question in Dean’s eyes, Castiel explained, “Your less caring counterpart opted out of the discussion. I believe his exact words were...’I don’t give a rat’s ass’.”

“Yeah, well, I ain’t him.”

“So I’ve noticed.” Castiel touched a linger hand to his shoulder, drawing his eyes and capturing them with the intensity of his gaze. “Don’t ever give up.”

“Okay...thanks, Yoda.” Dean awkwardly patted Castiel’s hand. “You too...I guess, but seriously, what’s the deal?”

When Castiel stepped aside Dean saw that the angels weren’t the only ones at the powwow. Chuck was sitting across the table huddled over stacks of papers. By his strained expression, if Chuck thought any harder his brain was likely to explode, either that, or he’d had too many beans with dinner.

With a quick glance up, Chuck jumped as if he was noticing Dean for the first time. “Oh...hey, other Dean.” He gave a quick wave before returning to his notes.

“Ah...yeah. Hey, Chuck. You all planning a trip?”

Assorted maps plastered the surface of the table. Some were political, other geographical and others Dean didn’t even recognize. The only maps he ever used were road maps and only when Sam was a bitch. He tightened his jaw at the thought. There wasn’t anything he wouldn’t give to be bitching over a map with Sam right now.

Whatever was going on, they weren’t just reading the maps. Anna tapped her finger at some speck in the ocean and Chuck grabbed a yardstick. With a careful precision he rendered another line to the lattice pattern already marked out on the map.

Castiel stepped to stand beside Dean, tilting his head at Anna and Chuck’s progress. “We’re cross-referencing.”

“Cross-referencing what exactly?” Dean asked.

“Leylines, mineral deposits, areas of historical significance...”

“For your geography project?” When everyone just exchanged secretive glances it was way more than Dean could take. “Someone needs to tell me what’s going on or I’m gonna start kicking asses – starting with yours.”

His finger pointed directly at Chuck who already looked jittery as hell. As he expected, Chuck folded like a cheap deck of cards. “We might be selecting a possible ritual site…for example.”

Dean shot a look to Anna. “Can’t you just phone home...you know, AngelQuest it?”

“Some things haven’t changed since we last met.”

“So you’re still not employee of the month, welcome to the club, but you still got your angel juice...why do you still have your juice?”

With a shrug Castiel settled into the closest chair, leaning back to prop his feet up on the table, ignoring Chuck’s irritated look. “Apparently, the question is why I don’t.”

“We’re working on it,” Anna said. Her eyes lingered on Castiel’s long enough to carry a silent promise before she returned her attention to Dean. “Even if the angels hadn’t left, this ritual would not be endorsed by our superiors.”

“I think I might like this plan. I’m assuming we’re not just looking for a pot of gold.”

“We’re trying to contact Sam.”

It took a long moment for Anna’s words to sink in. “You mean...”

“Your brother,” Castiel said. “Dean, we’re going to try to reach your brother from inside of Lucifer.”

“That sounds...gross and impossible and something tells me when you say ‘we’ you mean...”

“You...or you,” Castiel replied. “Potentially both. The chances of success are somewhere between your proposed impossible and highly unlikely. It’s also a plan bordering on suicide.”

There were a lot of things Dean had expected the planned ritual to be. Mostly he’d thought mass exorcism or a cure to the Croatoan virus. Given the circumstances wiping all the life from the face of the planet and starting over wasn’t outside of the realm of possibilities by angel standards. Much more of this place and he might even be onboard with that.

“So you’re telling me if we do some hocus pocus then we have a shot at getting through to Sam?” Castiel gave an affirmative nod and that was all Dean needed. “I’m in.”

“You’re all wasting your time,” his older self said from the doorway. “Sam left the building a long damn time ago.”

“You’re just pissed because Lucifer ganked you,” Dean shot back. “Our brother is still in there.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Neither do you and if there’s half of one percent of a chance that we can rescue him then we gotta take it.”

His older self ran a frustrated hand over his face before glaring at him. “I need to talk to you outside. Now.”

Without warning the older man stepped forward and grabbed his arm, jerking him out the door. He barely had his footing before a fist smashed into his face. Dean staggered to the side, looking up at himself in shock.

“You’re a selfish bastard, you know that?” the older man shouted.

“Come again?”

“You’re still doing this for Sam. Don’t you think we’ve given enough for him? Face it, Dean, you failed – we failed him. Sam’s gone.”

Dean straightened, rubbing his throbbing jaw. “Yeah, well, then so are we.”

“Oh don’t start that crap! I’ve been getting along fine without him.”

“Guzzling booze, smoking like a chimney and hoping like hell someone kills you ‘cause you don’t have the sac to do it yourself? Yeah, we’re super,” Dean scoffed. “You can’t fool me. Sam is all we’ve ever had.”

“Doesn’t matter. Sam made his choice and it wasn’t us. If this will stop Lucifer then it’s worth a shot, but Sam is a lost cause, has been from the start.”

It wrenched Dean’s gut to hear those words flow so easily from his own tongue. He happily threw his older self a punch to put the one he’d thrown to shame. After stumbling back Dean’s older self surged forward, plowing straight into him.

Together they hit the ground with his older self landing on top. Before Dean recovered the air that was knocked from him by the impact, first a fist then a knee jabbed into his ribs. Dean cocked his fist to return the favor. The only thing that stopped him was a flash of red out of the corner of his eye. A quick glimpse of Anna was the last thing he saw before everything went dark.

~~~

“There’s only one way to settle this.”

“I shoot you?” Dean’s older self asked from the cot.

Dean sat up on his own cot to glare at himself. The filtered morning light highlighted some colorful additions on the older man’s face and Dean knew he had more than a few of his own. It was a damn good thing that Anna had stepped in for the forced timeout. Knowing himself, he wouldn’t have backed down and killing himself wasn’t going to save Sam.

“Okay, there’s two ways,” Dean corrected. Scooting to the edge of his cot, he held his hands at the ready, drawing a groan from the older man.

“Seriously? What are we, five?”

“If you got a better idea...”

“I could still shoot you.”

“It’d be a waste of a perfectly good bullet.”

“Touché.” A wry smirk drifted over the older man’s lips. “Fine. Do your worst.”

Also perched on the edge of his cot, Dean’s older self held out his palm and fist in preparation for a deciding game of rock, paper, scissors. Slamming their fists down twice with gusto left them at a stalemate. Dean looked up from their hands and met the older man’s eyes.

“I’ll throw something other than scissors if you do.”

“It’ll just be another tie. You’re me and I’m going to throw paper.” When Dean didn’t back down his older self let out a huff. “Yeah, okay.” The older man sent an appreciative glance over him before looking back to their hands. “We’re kind of hard to say no to.”

“Damn straight.” Laying down their fists again, Dean once again threw scissors to defeat his older self’s paper.

The older man pushed off his cot. “You’re a cheating bastard!”

“Guess we don’t know ourselves as well as we think.”

“Or maybe I’m just not me anymore, which isn’t all bad by the way.” Dean wasn’t sure who he was trying to convince. It wasn’t like either of them bought that crap. “I guess you going in is better anyway. Wouldn’t do much good me storming in there and chasing Sam off.”

“Again. You know it’s not him we’re pissed at.”

“Doesn’t change anything. It’s still a stupid ass plan. You sure about this?”

Dean slipped off his flannel and stripped off his t-shirt. Aside from the suicidal hurt like hell factor there was the fact that this wasn’t even his time. He didn’t want to be here doing cleanup for the world he hadn’t even screwed over yet, he wanted to be back stopping this all from happening in the first place.

It didn’t change that this was still Sam they were talking about. As long as there remained even the slightest chance that Dean wouldn’t get back to his time, he had to do what he could in this time to save his brother.

“Not even close, but between maybe dying and having a shot at saving the world or drowning myself in booze, amphetamine and women...what the hell am I doing here?”

“We never did know what was good for us.”

Dean laid face down on the rickety cot. Castiel and Anna had been vague at best about how this ritual was supposed to go down. All he knew was they had to write some message into his back and somehow he would end up sleepwalking into Lucifer’s head. Or something.

The cot creaked in protest as the older man sat down on the edge beside him. Dean sucked in a sharp breath when calloused hands began to shamelessly explore his bare back. The unexpected intimacy drew a heated blush to his cheeks.

“It’s not a half bad view,” his older self remarked.

He stiffened as the warm hands gave way to cold steel. The dull side of a blade traced over his skin with a bone chilling precision. Instinctively he flinched not because there was any pain associated with the light pressure, but from the flashes of torment the familiar patterns being drawn brought.

“You still remember,” his older self said idly. “The patterns he carved, every shape and line....”

“You’re ready.”

Dean and his older counterpart both jumped at the voice. Scrambling part way up, Dean shot a look over his shoulder to see Anna standing expectantly at the foot of the cot. Swallowing hard, Dean nodded before settling back down on his stomach.

“As ready as I’ll ever be. I’m just gonna need some whiskey.”

“Alcohol won’t assist this process.”

The gentle smile on Anna’s lips verged on placating, the softness in her eyes dismissive like she was talking to a toddler. It would be an insult coming from anyone else, but he knew she didn’t mean to do it. He couldn’t expect her to be the girl he’d met in the back of the Impala. Technically she wasn’t a girl at all.

Before she’d essentially been human and she’d seen him as an equal. Now she was divine, or at least the fallen divine, and she saw him for what he was. Maybe he’d been hanging out with angels too long, but he was okay with that. It didn’t mean she wasn’t wrong about the alcohol.

“Says you,” he grumbled in reply. Squirming uncomfortably, Dean settled his head further into the pillow. “Maybe a gag then?”

Before Anna could reply, Castiel swung open the door to the cabin and held it while Chuck less than gracefully entered with a tray that looked suspiciously like a half rusted oil drip pan. While he didn’t have a clear view, Dean could see it held some old book and a chipped up mug. When Chuck set the tray on the table beside him he got a view of the pitch-black contents of the cup.

“Thanks, but that coffee is a little black even for me,” Dean said.

Curiosity still got the better of him and he leaned over to take a heavy whiff from the cup. He couldn’t place the mix of spicy and almost chemical odors. It didn’t take knowing what it was to know he wasn’t going to like it.

Chuck glanced to the cup and wrinkled his face. “I really wouldn’t drink that. It’s probably lead based. Sorry...paint is at a premium these days. Not as much of a premium as toilet paper, but still...”

“Paint?”

“And lots of other fancy stuff. Anna went on a worldwide shopping spree. Apparently canned beans and Spam don’t figure into a lot of rituals. We got stuff from Manila, Shanghai, Pittsburgh...why?” Chuck furrowed his brow in concern. “You’re not allergic are you?”

“To paint?”

As he watched Chuck nervously flip through the musty pages of the leather-bound book Dean saw the paintbrushes lying beside it. With a relieved chuckle, he settled down to get comfortable on the cot. He had assumed that writing had meant daggers and blood, not Chuck finger-painting him. Dean crossed his arms over the pillow and propped his head on them while he turned to watch Chuck ramble nonsense words to himself.

“Hey, Chuck?” Dean asked after a moment’s hesitation. “Do you know how this ends?”

“Me? Not a clue. I’m out of the prophet business. Not really sorry about that given the status of our aspirin supply...sorry.”

A slight shiver shimmied through Dean at the first touch of the brush against his skin. He wriggled at the moist strokes of the rough bristles being slowly drawn over his shoulder blade. The tentative flow of the brush stopped and started unpredictably as Chuck continued to mumble to himself.

“What are you writing on me?” his older self asked.

“On you...? Oh, you mean, him you. Right now? ‘Arwah adik’.”

“And that’s demonic for ‘where the hell is Sam’?”

“More like Indonesian for ’the younger brother’s soul’...unless ‘09 you keeps wiggling, then we’re probably ordering Chinese takeout.”

“It tickles,” Dean replied. “And why can’t you just write it in English? Sam doesn’t read Indonesian and obviously you don’t either. I don’t wanna get turned into Kung Pao chicken. At least let Cas write it in Enochian.”

Castiel stepped forward, crouching down low enough to come into Dean’s line of sight. “Lucifer would too easily detect an angelic intrusion. This is a human Indonesian ritual. Typically it is more meditative, less spectacle, but it would traditionally be performed by a highly adept spirit master.”

“Still searching for English here.”

“This is usually meant for a Jedi, but we can only send Chewbacca,” Chuck replied.

“You’re Chewbacca,” Dean muttered. “But yeah, I get it. If we gotta jump through so many hoops to get me this one way ticket to astral land, any reason to think I’m not going to just screw it up once I’m there?”

“If all goes as planned and that is an exceedingly large ‘if’,” Castiel said, “you should encounter a guide. This guide will manifest in whatever form you hold most familiar. Follow him and with any luck, he will lead you to Sam.”

“We’re relying on my luck now?” Dean shifted his head to stare forward at the wall. “We are so screwed.”

“Perhaps.”

“You don’t actually have to agree with me, Cas.”

“I find you agreeable. Much more so than...you,” Castiel said with a nod towards Dean’s older self.

“Same to you,” Dean’s older self said. “And this is all fascinating, but I’m hearing a hell of a lot of ‘ifs’ and ‘maybes’ here.”

Castiel let out a far too contemplative sigh before settling back on his haunches and looking up at Dean’s older counterpart. “The situation will be unpredictable and there’s a minor possibility that you...as in him,” Castiel said with a motion towards Dean, “may be transformed into a jenglot.”

“A jen-o-what?” Dean asked.

“It’s a vampire of sorts...a very, tiny mummified vampire. We may also attract the attention of a pontianak.” At Dean’s look Castiel elaborated. “You’ll know it if you see it. The intestines are a clear give away.”

“Okay...forget I asked. You sure we can’t just sit around and smoke your peyote until we think we’re in Lucifer’s head?”

“I highly doubt the results would be satisfactory.” Castiel gave up on crouching and settled down on the floor where Dean could easily see him. “Your primary concern here needs to be you.”

“Oh believe me, I’m concerned.”

Castiel fell silent as he seemed to be choosing his words carefully. “Dean, by doing this we are essentially locking you inside yourself and I know, I’ve seen...”

Dean met Castiel’s eyes, begging him silent. He didn’t need or want to hear what Castiel had seen in his head. “I can handle it.” His reply was dismissive if only because he didn’t want to think about it. “So once I’m through to Sam, then what?”

“Unfortunately, nothing. We just need to know if Sam is still there. And if he is, we can work with that and if he’s not...”

“We gotta switch to a nuke,” his older self filled in.

Dean clamped his jaw against the thought, against how easy it was for himself to say it. But they weren’t exactly rolling in choices. If Sam was gone, if Lucifer had snuffed out his brother then he needed to know that, in which case he would find a way to tear Lucifer to shreds regardless of whose face he wore.

~~~

“I know we’re royally screwed, but isn’t it a little pessimistic start by digging our own grave?” Dean asked.

“And where the hell are we anyway?”

At his older self’s question, Dean fully took in the surreal surroundings. Despite the setting sun he wasn’t as cold as he’d expected to be. Last night he’d been chilled beneath three layers and now he was decently comfortable with his upper torso bare. It was probably the electricity irradiating them.

The air buzzed so loud he could barely hear himself think. High voltage wires hung from scaffolding that extend out towards the horizon. The towering structures were silhouetted by an early evening sky that burned red as embers intense enough to be reminiscent of hellfire.

“This is Christchurch and the digging of the grave is symbolic,” Anna assured them though the assurance rang hollow considering the circumstances. “The ritual is performed as a solitary vigil beside an open grave. Since you’re both you, that should be close enough.”

“Again with the maybes...” Dean’s older self said with a kick to the sea of gravel that surrounded them. “This is holy ground?”

A quiet laugh drifted from Anna, barely audible over the hum of transformers. “Not exactly. This is Christchurch, New Zealand. From our mapping this power substation...”

“Wait, like land of the sheep lovers, other side of the freakin’ planet, New Zealand?” Dean again looked around, but with the quickly darkening sky there was no real visual reference for where they were beyond the substation. “If you can zap us across the globe, why can’t you just kick me back to ‘09?”

“I’m sorry, Dean. World travel and temporal travel, they’re just not the same thing.”

Instead of sending him home, Anna showed them to a site of barren ground. In the fading light it didn’t look any different than where they’d popped in at except that the gravel had given way to dirt that could actually be dug, though apparently Dean wasn’t the one digging.

He sat as instructed, strangely mystified by the sight of his older self breaking through the surface of the crusted earth. There was no counting the number of graves he’d dug up over the years. For him busting open coffins was as normal as picking milk up from the store was for most people and never had he wondered what he looked like doing it.

The older man stripped down to a t-shirt and was strength personified as he chiseled through the layers of soil. Quiet sounds of effort and the occasional clank of shovel spade against rock blended into the throbbing of the substation’s atmosphere. By the time his older self sat down beside him, sweat stains darkened his shirt.

“That was a blast. Now what?”

“I guess we wait.” Anna had popped out before the digging started. Apparently they were supposed to know what to do. Impatiently Dean tapped his fingers against the worn denim of his jeans. “This acid trip would be a lot more fun with some acid.”

“Sulfuric acid would cleanse your soul good and proper.”

The words skirted playfully on the wind. Every muscle in Dean’s body went rigid, the chill sinking straight through to his soul. He bit down panic as his eyes locked questioningly with himself. The older man stared blankly back at him.

“What?” Dean’s older self asked.

“Did you hear that?”

“Yeah, it was my stomach. Man, this fasting business is crap.” Indifference quickly melted to alertness that drifted into concern. Dean’s older self sat up straighter, uncrossing his legs as he scanned the open area around them. “What’d you hear?”

Heavy steps crunched over the gravel behind him yet his older self, who was looking right at him, obviously didn’t see anyone there. As impossible as it was, he already knew who was waiting. Instead of turning to look over his shoulder, Dean let his eyes fall closed before answering.

“Looks like we’re getting this party started.”

Any reply that may have been in his older self’s throat never reached Dean’s ears. Pleasantly warm air boiled to a repressive heat so intense it felt as if it would melt away his flesh to leave only charred bones. It wouldn’t be the first time. Electric lines gave way to hills of bones, mountains of flesh and rivers of blood. The buzz of electricity notched up to agonizing screams.

When his eyes focused, a lacerated liver stared up at him. He was probably qualified to be a surgeon with his intimate familiarity of human anatomy. There was just the little problem that he only knew how to break it. Like everything else, in a million ways he could tear it apart. He didn’t know how to put it back together.

His hands were sticky with blood, blood that coated his skin up to his elbows and splatter painted his torso red, but his sternum was intact. The liver wasn’t his. There was no reason to think that the blood was either. Bile threatened the back of his tongue. Reluctantly his eyes scanned up the mutilated body on the rack before him.

Dead eyes of the bound soul stared blankly past him. Stumbling to his feet, Dean shook his head and stepped back from the limply hanging mangled corpse. His tentative retreat was cut short when he backed into something.

“Now, now, Dean. Where have your manners gone?” Alastair asked. “You really must remember to share.”

With a deceptive tenderness Alastair’s hand closed over Dean’s, carefully prying his fingers free from the razor Dean hadn’t realized he was clutching.

“You’re dead,” Dean said.

“Aren’t we all?”

Dean’s reluctant eyes followed Alastair’s guiding gaze. The soul strapped naked to the rack was no longer faceless. Blood flowed from wounds so numerous they all bled to one, streams of crimson traveling down to drip from the dangling feet. Screams so familiar, so brutal, that Dean would’ve torn his ears off if it would’ve helped to silence the torment.

Worse than any of it was the easy pleasure on the face of the man wielding the razor. It was his face, his hands that gouged shredded flesh with eyes black as night, tearing into his father. For a brief moment his disbelieving eyes grew wide before he quickly looked away, clenching his eyes closed and willing reality to return.

“This isn’t real...that never happened!” Dean shouted with a gesture towards the rack that he couldn’t look back towards.

“You say potato, I say potato. History, Dean, is what the living make of it – it’s not for people like me to decide.”

“’People’?” Dean sneered. “That’s hilarious. You’re not a ‘people’, Alastair. You’re...wait. You’re my Jiminy Cricket aren’t you? Son of a bitch.” Dean used his forearm to wipe the sweat from his brow, unintentionally smearing blood across his forehead. “Awesome. I got a torture master for my guide.”

Alastair rubbed his hand over Dean’s brow, wiping it clean before moving to step behind him. A possessive hand latched onto Dean’s hip and jerked him backwards until his back was pressed flush against Alastair’s chest. The demon placed his now crimson stained fingers over Dean’s heart.

“In your hearts of hearts you know it’s what you are,” Alastair said. The fingers clamped around his hip and bit into the suddenly exposed skin with a bruising force. “I know - I’ve seen your heart.”

Dean gave a reluctant nod. “Yeah, and I’ve eaten it. Thanks for that.” His head tilted back to lean against the familiar curves of Alastair’s shoulder. He looked at the demon out of the corner of his eye, wholly unfazed by the grotesqueness of the demon’s true face. “Maybe we could get off memory lane and onto finding Sam.”

“You’ll never find your brother like this,” Alastair remarked.

After he pulled back Alastair ran his finger along Dean’s sweat soaked back. The finger came back inky black with smudged paint. Dean bowed his head before he spoke.

“You better fix it.”

Forty years they had been at each other’s side. It was a blink in time for Alastair, but a lifetime for Dean. There was no need for Alastair to speak for Dean to know what he wanted. Even less so now that Alastair was literally in his head. Maybe he’d been there the entire time.

With an unsteady breath Dean stepped forward against the now empty rack. There was no reason for restraints as Dean just clutched the searing metal. The light grip turned white knuckle as the razor carved into his skin the first line of the words that Chuck had painted there.

“It’s true what they say, there's more than one way to skin a Winchester.” Alastair’s blade expertly burned sweeping curves into Dean’s back as he spoke. “But there’s only one way for you to go forward. Alone, but you always have been that.” Blinking back the sting of tears, Dean clenched his jaw and just gripped the steel of the rack tighter. “And by alone, my boy, I mean you have to let go.”

“Of what?”

Ragged breaths seeped past Dean’s slightly parted lips as Alastair pulled the razor away only long enough to lean into Dean. Alastair’s head rested atop Dean’s blood seeping shoulder. Dean forced his breath quiet as he strained to hear the words Alastair spoke over the howling cries that filled the bitter air.

“All of it. Everything. Everyone. You have to shed it all, son. It’s the only way to slip past Lucifer’s gate.”

Dean didn’t know what that meant, but more than that he knew it didn’t matter. He wouldn’t blink at eternally throwing his soul back into the Pit if it would mean freeing Sam from this lord of evil crap. While not so much as a breath had left his mouth, he knew Alastair already had his answer.

Strong hands pried his hands from the rack. When he turned around Dean again found the familiar curves of the razor’s handle gripped in his palm. He steeled himself already afraid he wouldn’t be strong enough to face whatever now lay on the rack.

Before he had fully turned back, his legs gave out. He never felt his knees hit the ground. The searing heat of the air combusted into the flames of an entirely different fire, one so deeply etched into his memory as to define him. It wasn’t the eternal expanse of hell, but burned hotter.

Everything he was silently screamed against the raging flames that surged across the ceiling of Sammy’s nursery. The fire engulfed Mom’s body, just before the heaviest weight Dean would ever carry was placed into his arms, the weight he had never put down.

He squinted against the blinding light and the angle of the fire shifted. Despair mimicked the flames, consuming him as the fire consumed his Dad’s body on the funeral pyre. His world turned to ash and in the next moment it was Sam’s blood sticky on his hands, his brother’s dead weight again in his arms. By comparison the flaying of the hellhounds claws and return to hellfire was ecstasy.

When flames again swallowed the ceiling, it was Jessica pinned in the inferno. It wasn’t through his eyes or emotions that he watched the woman Sam loved charred to nothing. He was Sam carrying Dean’s weight in his arms, lowering his shredded body into a pine box and feeling the impossible weight of every shovelful of dirt that filled the grave and made the silence that brought the chill.

“Dean?”

The ghost of a word sliced through the frozen silence. With a sharp gasp Dean let himself breath, air rushing to refill his lungs. When his eyes focused he was sitting in a field, the sun warm on his face. His brother stood in the middle of the grassy expanse.

Sam’s long arms were wrapped tenderly around Jessica lost in the depth of a kiss. Slowly they pulled away from each other but it was Jessica, not Sam, that looked to him. Only it wasn’t Jessica. His brow furrowed as he saw Anna leave Sam’s side and stride quickly towards him.

“Dean, you need to get out.”

“Get out? I just got here. How are you here?”

“I’m not. I’m in your mind. You’ve crossed the line into Sam’s, but the boundary between Sam and Lucifer is too thin.”

His head was still spinning and his heart literally ached like hell. All he needed or wanted right now was Sam. There was no way he was turning around after having just caught a glimpse of his brother. If Lucifer wanted a piece of him while not strutting around in his Sam’s suit then Dean was all too ready for him.

“I don’t care.” Dean shot his head to the side to see himself, not some mental projection of himself, but his older self. “Why are you here?”

“You did the gate crashing. It’s time for the big guns to take over.”

“Why?” Dean looked suspiciously between himself and Anna. “I’m the one that can reach Sam.”

“You were the only one who could get in. If Sam is still here, we’ll reach him,” Anna said, “but we can’t sacrifice you to do it.”

He looked to his older self who stood casually by, not quite meeting his eyes. Slowly the meaning of Anna’s words registered. His words were heavy with disbelief. “You want to sacrifice him.”

“He’s expendable, you’re not.”

“He is me!”

“That’s why he’s redundant. Without you there is no him. No you. No way to stop any of this.” Anna stepped forward, closing the distance between them. “Why do you think he was brought back?”

“You angels just never tired of screwing with me, do you? To hell with you and your big picture crap. This is my fight and I’m not going to die – nobody’s gonna die because this is Sam and he won’t kill me.”

“It’s our fight,” Dean’s older self corrected. “And, hey, you’re right. It’s Friday. We can only die on Thursdays.” The older man flashed the closest thing Dean had seen to a smile, but the corner of his lips quickly fell. “You were also right about us and Sam.”

“Yeah, I know.” Dean glanced back to Anna. “You can bring him back again, right?”

“Not from this, not if Lucifer finds him.”

Dean’s older self shrugged. If anything the man looked relieved and Dean somehow knew he would be. He was tired. Add a few years without Sam in a dying world he’d damned to hell and he’d be ready to check out too.

“Look at it this way,” Dean’s older self said, “we get to kill our self and live. Win, win.”

~~~

Dean had let himself be talked into holding back only because he wanted to make sure someone was left to save Sam. While he had held back, he hadn’t left like Anna had ordered. It turned out that the only one with any powers in Sam’s head, beside Sam, was him and Sammy’s roommate. The only angel he had to contend with here was Lucifer. Good times.

When the sun surrendered to storm clouds the pressure of the atmosphere became repressive and the hair at the nape of Dean’s neck stood on end. The rumble of thunder in the near distance rippled through the darkening sky. His back tingled.

Reaching behind himself, he wiped his hand across his back expecting it to come away bloody. Instead the skin felt unmarred. He couldn’t even feel the crust of paint yet he could feel the lines of the words that had been drawn there vibrating deeper than the surface as if they had been etched into his soul.

Without knowing why, he rose to his feet. His movements were automatic as he left the moist grass of the field and cleared the top of the hill that hadn’t been there when he had sat down. The surroundings shifted as he descended the other side of the slope and he was again there, where Lucifer had sworn they would always end up.

It was like some twisted Groundhog Day. His older self lay on the ground with Lucifer’s pristinely white shoe poised over his neck. This time Dean didn’t let shock stifle his movements. Chuck might not be a prophet anymore, but Dean already knew how this ended.

“No!”

When Dean rushed forward, the same smug smile he’d seen the other night traced over not Sam’s, but Lucifer’s, lips. A sweep of Lucifer’s hand sent Dean flying backwards. His awareness went fuzzy when he collided into a stone statue, sending a jolt of pain through his body. It might not actually be his physical body, but it sure as hell felt like it.

Dean rolled onto his side, stunned. It was too soon to force his eyes to focus when a steel grip latched around his throat. He gasped sharply for air that would no longer come as Lucifer pulled him up by his neck.

His hands gripped Lucifer’s arm to try to ease the unyielding pressure on his airway while his feet were left dangling free from the ground. Lucifer watched him struggle with a curious tilt of his head.

“Dean, back sooner than I expected,” Lucifer said. “I’d commend you on your persistence, but it would be like commending fleas for returning to a dog.”

“Where’s Sam?” Dean gasped.

“Oh, I see. This must be terribly disappointing for you.”

Like brushing off a fly, Lucifer released his grip, letting Dean crumple to the ground at his feet. Lucifer raised his brows and glanced back to Dean’s older self who was staggering to his feet while Dean choked to recover air.

“Did you really think you could just sneak in here and rescue Sam from me? Sorry you wasted the trip, but Sam and I, we’re two sides of the same coin, Dean. I am what your brother was made for. And you...you’ve outstayed your welcome.” Lucifer flexed his fists, cracked his neck and looked between the two of them. “Would you like me to kill you now?”

“We’d like you to shut the hell up and let us talk to Sam,” Dean’s older self replied.

The smile that rose to Lucifer’s lips had lost its easygoing smugness and was beginning to look like a smokescreen. Dean shoved off the ground, his eyes sharply fixed on Lucifer. The harder he looked the more disjointed his vision became and with a flicker, it was no longer Sam’s body standing there.

He’d never seen an angel in its true form. Maybe that was what he was looking at now. Even if it was, it was tainted by the more familiar contorted features of a demon. After a moment Dean realized that he was seeing Lucifer’s true face surrounded by both himself and his older self. It was again through Sam’s eyes that he was seeing.

Dean stumbled back as his vision returned to being his own. When he again looked up a satisfied smirk crossed his lips, drawing confusion from his older self.

“What now?”

“He can’t kill us,” Dean replied.

“Funny, I seem to remember that he can.”

“Not here. We’d already be dead...at least you would. Ain’t that right, Lucy?” Dean’s sight fixed back in on Lucifer, taking a step towards him. “You and Sam, you’re not the same. This is still Sam’s head. You’re just a son of a bitch parasite slithering around inside it.”

“Dean?”

This time it wasn’t a whisper on the wind or a tickle in the back of his skull - it was Sam’s voice clear as day.

“Sam!”

Dean spun towards the voice he’d needed to hear more than anything. The storm was gone, but a murky darkness had closed in around them. Sam was kneeling chained and shackled to a floor. The instant Dean’s eyes adjusted enough to see him, he skidded across the damp concrete to drop at his brother’s side.

Immediately he began to examine the solidly welded restraints that he instinctually knew could not be broken with any lock pick. His anxious eyes scanned Sam while he tried to look strong. It was only another few seconds before he could no longer resist pulling his stunned brother into his arms.

“Dean, how…?”

“It’s really us, Sammy,” Dean’s older self said.

At the use of Sam’s nickname, Dean looked over his shoulder to see the overwhelmed expression on the older man’s face. It was one thing to say that Sam was a lost cause. It was another thing to be standing in front of his bound kid brother and pretend that it didn’t matter, that he was somehow better off alone.

Bewilderment folded Sam’s brow. “How are there two of you?”

“Guess it’s just your lucky day,” Dean replied.

His hands remained busy scanning his brother for injuries. It was an action that was imbedded in his muscle memory. It didn’t matter that this was just a projection of Sam. Aside from being trapped, Sam looked okay. Physically. He seemed strong, but his eyes were gripped in agony that Dean wanted desperately to take from him.

“Dean, I can’t stop him.”

Dean clenched his jaw knowing that the same was true for him, but that was the last thing he was going to tell his brother. “It’s okay, Sammy. You don’t have to.” He blinked back the wetness he could feel welling in his eyes as he ruffled his hand into Sam’s hair just for a confirmation that his brother was really there, physical or not.

“I never should have...God...the things I’ve done…”

“Wasn’t you. We’re getting you out of here.”

“How?”

“We’re working on that,” Dean’s older self replied. “Just hold on, okay?”

Dean glanced away from Sam when a hand set on his shoulder. It was his older self looking down at him. For the first time Dean saw real emotion in his eyes. For the first time he believed he wasn’t dead.

“We gotta go,” the older man said. Despite what the man had said last night, tonight there was reluctance in the words.

Dean shook his head. Instead of standing he crouched further down beside Sam. “You go. I’m staying with him.”

“We can’t stay, we’re not even here. We can’t just pull up a U-Haul and move into Sam’s head.”

“Dean, he’s...you’re right. You need to go...all of you.” With a clink of chains Sam lifted his arm to clutch Dean’s forearm. “You have to stop me.”

“Not happening. He’s not you, Sam.” Dean gripped his brother’s shoulder, giving him a strong shake. “You hear me? We’re gonna kill his ass and save yours. We just need your help to do it. Come on, you can’t leave me out here with myself.”

~~~

“Now we’re celebrating,” Dean’s older self announced as he handed Dean a beer. “I guess sucking at dying comes in handy after all.”

The sun was well hidden behind a dense blanket of clouds that made it feel far later than it was. While it was barely noon Dean was damn near ready to pass out where he stood. For some reason that was starting to make his fist twitchy, his older self was still buzzed from the ritual. They’d left Sam imprisoned inside of Lucifer. It wasn’t exactly time to break out the bubbly.

Still walking with a bounce in his step, Dean’s older self bent down to snatch up the empty beer bottle he’d tossed in the bushes the other night. Absently he twirled it in his fingers while they walked down the camp’s road.

“What’re you so damn happy about?” Dean popped the top off his beer and guzzled it as quickly as humanly possible, avoiding the taste and getting straight to the point.

“Sam isn’t dead and we got an in at stopping Lucifer,” Dean’s older self replied. He tossed the empty bottle at a rusted steel drum that was spilling over with trash. “Sure as hell beats the alternative.”

“Sure as hell beats your alternative. Me, I’m supposed to be back in ’09 saving the world from us with our brother. Instead I’m stuck here talking to myself with no decent alcohol, no actual food and a camp full of women who I already screwed over without even getting laid.” With an irritated huff Dean chucked his own bottle at the barrel with a shattering force. “Zachariah where are you, you son of a bitch?!” Dean shouted uselessly towards the clouds.

“He ain’t listening. No one is, but on the plus side you get to skip the ugly parts. Believe me, those years between ’09 and now... Zachariah did you a favor. At least this way we can pretend we could’ve done better without just screwing it up again.” Dean shot a hardened glare towards himself. “You can’t say you’d do it better than me – you are me.”

Maybe that was true, but he could do it different. Now he knew what didn’t work. It didn’t mean that anything else would work, but he couldn’t live in this world without having tried, not that it was looking like he had much of a choice.

“Maybe if Anna can figure out how to get Cas’s angel mojo back on.”

“Yeah, maybe.” His older self turned away from him and snapped his fingers at an older man. The guy was leaning against one of the cabins smoking a cigarette and watching Dean warily. “Hey, Ricky, heads up,” Dean’s older self said as he tossed his crushed pack of cigarettes to the man.

The man caught it, turning it over in his hands before sending a suspicious look to Dean’s older self. “What’s this for, boss?”

“Employee of the week. Now get back to work on that security detail and get someone to clean up that garbage.”

“On it.”

Dean’s older self looked back to Dean as he grabbed his arm and steered him off the road. “You can click your heels all you want, Dorothy, but for the record, until you get your ass zapped by an angel, I’m still in charge.”

“You can have your Merry Men. I’m gonna get our brother back.” Dean reached over his shoulder and slid his hand down the collar of his shirt to scratch at his itchy back. “Right after I get this damn paint off.”

His older self came up behind him and lifted up the back of his shirt. “It’s giving us a rash.” Dean felt his older self's fingers make a half assed effort at chipping at the stubbornly caked on paint mix. “It’s gonna be a bitch to get off.”

“Yeah, well, it’s a bigger bitch to have on.” His brow furrowed as he looked up to realize where they were. “What’s this - orgy time?”

With a snort, Dean’s older self swept the curtain of beads aside for Dean to duck into Castiel’s cabin. “Cas is doing up a bath to soak that crap off with some girly bath salts.”

“And you’re here to be my personal luffa?”

“If you ever pull a Back to the Future III, I happen to have a vested interest in our back.”

It wasn’t like he didn’t need the help, but when he heard Anna’s voice filtering out from down the hall he glanced back to his older self. “How many people does it take to make a bath around here?”

“Just two of you, an impotent angel and...well, not impotent...”

At the suggestive raise of his older self’s brow Dean waved him off. “I don’t even wanna know how we know that.” Before heading down the hall, he stopped to really look at himself, truly meeting the older man's eyes for the first time. “So you’re really riding the happy train on this whole save Sam, stop Lucifer thing?”

“Reverse priorities, and we’re still gonna get our asses handed to us, but yeah, sure. Why not? With you here we got at least two chances to die trying.”


End file.
